


And Then Give Me Time To Pack

by BlackKyber



Category: saigenos - Fandom, ワンパンマン | One-Punch Man
Genre: Absence, Confused Saitama, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Fluff, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, I Ship It, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious Genos, One Punch Man - Freeform, Pining Saitama, Romantic Fluff, Short & Sweet, Short Story, saigenos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-17 12:50:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18965593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackKyber/pseuds/BlackKyber
Summary: Forever.That’s how long it feels like, since Saitama last saw his friend and disciple, Genos.Forever.But the cyborg up and left, without warning, and without any indication of where he could possibly be going, or why.And Saitama, for the first time inforever, finally feels he’s come up against an opponent that he’s not strong enough to beat:Loneliness.





	And Then Give Me Time To Pack

Power.

That had been the last thing.

The very last, off-handed, not putting much thought into it thing, that Saitama had said to his disciple, Genos, before the latter disappeared. It was after the fight with the huge bug that wrecked a good deal of Z city, and Genos had come away from that battle quite badly torn apart. Still, he had managed to hobble up to Saitama (who had, of course, defeated the beast with one punch), and seek words of ‘wisdom’ from his master.

_Saitama-Sensei, may I ask you a question?_

_Yeah?_

_What is it do you think I still lack?_

_Eh ... I guess ..._

“Power,” Saitama said to himself now, before letting out a sigh.

“Huh?”

“Oh, ah, nothing,” Saitama replied, dialing his focus back in to the game. It was late Saturday afternoon, and, as usual, his friend, the S-class hero King, had popped over with the newest video game for them to play.

Or rather, for KING to play, and Saitama to take a sound beating on. It was funny, but no matter how much he practiced on his own, or how much he felt he’d improved, he could never manage to get the upper hand on King, even for the most silly, basic games.

_Shit ... is this how Genos felt, with me? Is THAT why he still hasn’t come back?_

“Ha! Beat you!”, King exclaimed, holding up his controller high in victory.

“Maybe I’M the one lacking power,” Saitama muttered to himself, scrubbing his hand wearily across his face.

“What?”

“Eh, nothing. You wanna go again?”

But King shook his head and set down his controller, switching off the game before saying,

“What’s up with you today?”

“What do you mean?”

King picked up his soda and took a sip. “You’ve been mumbling to yourself all afternoon, and it’s like you’re not even trying to beat me.”

“What’s the point of trying, King, if you’re just gonna win anyway?”

_No matter how strong I become, I cannot see myself ever approaching Saitama-Sensei’s level._

“See? That’s what I mean. Even knowing that you have no chance of victory against me, you at least always _tried_. Now you just sit there and barely move your fingers. Are you okay? Are you ill?”

_Genos always tried hard, too. Always trying to impress me. But I never even acknowledged how hard he was working. He’d sit there and take notes on every stupid little thing I’d say, and he was so grateful for even the most insignificant ‘insight’ I gave him._

“I’m fine. I’m just tired, I guess. Haven’t been sleeping so well lately.”

And that was the truth, in a way. He had become so accustomed to waking up in the middle of the night, turning his head and seeing Genos in his corner. Reading books, surfing the internet on his laptop. Or, sometimes, hearing the low, soothing thrumming of Genos’ systems recharging themselves, when Genos entered into “Sleep Mode” for a few hours each night. Saitama had a large futon so he offered Genos a spot next to him while he did this; Saitama would sometimes wake up and find Genos’ face right next to his, inhaling and exhaling softly, his brow furrowed up in that serious expression that Genos held on to, even in sleep.

Did Genos dream?  
Could he have nightmares?

Saitama had never asked.

There were many things about Genos, that he wish he had asked him about. That he had taken the time to show interest in, the way Genos showed interest in every little thing that Saitama said or did.

“Saitama?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we’re friends. Why?”

“I don’t have many people that I consider friends, you know,” King explained, absently running his fingers through his blonde locks. “Being in S-class, normal people are either afraid of me, or worse, super-fans. And the other S-class heroes think I’m too ‘mysterious’ to interact with, so I’m largely left out of that group as well. But you ... I can trust you, Saitama. You’re the most unpretentious person I’ve ever met, and I consider you a good friend. Even if you suck at gaming,” he added in as a joke, snickering.

Saitama wondered what in the world King’s point was, in saying all this. He was somebody that preferred whoever was talking to him to get to the point, and to do so quickly.

_But maybe this is your problem. Maybe you’re too rude with people, and that’s what pushes them away._

Before Saitama could think of a ‘nice’ response to this, King went on:

“What I’m trying to say is, you can tell me stuff, you know? Stuff that’s going on with you, I mean. You don’t just have to say ‘I’m tired’ if it’s something else.”

There was a long pause between them, and Saitama was in two minds about what to say. In the end, he just sighed, and said,

“I guess I ... I miss Genos, is all.”

King nodded as if he had expected as much, and then he asked, “Still haven’t heard from him?”

Saitama shook his head. “No. And the Hero Association hasn’t been any help, so ...”

Back around when Genos had first gone away, Saitama had ventured in the Z-city Hero Association headquarters building, to ask if they knew of the whereabouts of Genos.

_I’m sorry, Mr. Saitama, But Mr. Genos has informed us that he is on an important trip, and he does not wish us to disclose his location to anybody, unless it is an absolute emergency._

While the system had been unable to help Saitama in this sense, it had in another way: Saitama was able to access the Hero Registry website, and periodically check up on Genos’ stats. The last time he had checked (about a week and a half ago), he found that Genos had moved up one spot in the S-class rankings. To do so meant that he had to be fighting and defeating monsters elsewhere ... meaning that he was certainly alive, if well-hidden.

He told all of this to King, quietly, some small part of himself cringing at how much of a stalker he sounded like.

But King didn’t seem to think so.

“You want me to use my influence, see if I can get the Association to tell me where he is? I bet I could do it; I rarely request anything from them, and my status alone should secure me what I ask for.”

Saitama shook his head.

“Thanks, but no. I ... I think it’s important, to respect his privacy.”

“Have you tried that old guy he goes to all the time? The one who fixes him up?”

Saitama had. He had gone to the lab of Genos’ friend/repairer, Dr. Kuseno, to see if he had any news on Genos’ whereabouts.

“I’m sorry, Saitama-sama; I haven’t heard from him, either. He just stopped here, filled a bag with spare parts, and left.”

“He didn’t tell you at all where he was off to?”, Saitama had asked, in disbelief. “Isn’t that kinda _weird_?”

Dr. Kuseno has shaken his head. “Not really. Genos is a very private person. You know, he had been living with YOU for almost a month before he told me about it. Until then, I had assumed he was out traveling, trying to hunt down the rogue cyborg, like he had always done before.”

“Hm,” Saitama had replied, sitting on top of one of the doctor’s lab tables. He knew he should leave, but he couldn’t help it; it was his chance, maybe, to finally learn something about Genos’ past.

“Well, wherever he went, I’m sure it’s nicer than my crappy old apartment,” Saitama said, shaking his head. “I never got that; he chose to live with ME, in a space barely big enough to walk around in. But I know the Hero Association pays him quite well ... he could likely live anywhere he wanted.”

“If I had to guess, my boy, I’d say he chose to live with YOU, because your, er, _humble_ domestic situation reminded him of his home from when he was young.”

“Really?”

“His family was quite impoverished, you know,” the old doctor had stated, taking off his glasses and rubbing them with the bottom of his coat. “And it was a big one. His parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, and the boy had more sisters than I could keep track of. All crammed into a little house in the countryside, probably with not that much more space than your own place.”

“Sisters? Really? For some reason, I always pictured Genos to be an only child.”

“Ah, no. Lots of sisters, all younger than him. He was his family’s only boy, though, and seeing as how the family already had enough expenses to handle, Genos was the only one of their children that was sent for schooling. “

“Well, that makes sense,” Saitama said, chuckling. “It always surprises me, how smart the guy is.”

“You don’t even know the half of it, Saitama-san. Genos father died when he was about 12, so he had to drop out of school and get a job to help support his family. But do you think that stopped his pursuit of higher learning? When he wasn’t working he’d be in the city library, pouring over books. Mathematics, politics, history ... Genos taught himself quite well. Perhaps even better than the formal school system could have. And then he took that knowledge and passed it on to his sisters.”

Here the Doctor paused, smiling fondly as he continued,

“That’s where I first met him, actually. Public library. I taught a small adult education course in one of the library’s remedial classrooms, and Genos would pick a table near the open door, to listen. Eventually I invited him to sit in, so he could hear better. After my class was over, he would ask questions and keep me talking until long past dark. Such an intense, passionate young man —“

Here the doctor paused, and sighed.

“I’m sure he’s told you of the cyborg that attacked his home. How he lost all of his family, in one swoop. I’ve never understood how the boy survived that, Saitama-san. I had been out of town, and when I’d heard what happened, when I saw the destruction ... I thought that no human being could survive such a thing. But he had. I found him half-buried underneath the splinters of his home, barely breathing, bleeding out at an alarming rate ...”

“Genos has a strong spirit,” Saitama provided, a small smile on his face. “Maybe one of the strongest I’ve ever encountered.”

“Indeed. He begged me to change him, to modify his body so that he would no longer be helpless. So I did. And I can’t tell you, how proud he’s made me since then. Such a tragedy could turn a man to evil, but not Genos. He uses his new power to help others, even if it’s at a personal cost to himself. So proud.”

_Power._

“Well, cheer up,” King said to him now, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll come back soon. Now come on,” he said, picking up Saitama’s controller and handing it to him, “Distract your mind a little, play me again.”

So Saitama did.

_Okay. Stop thinking about Genos, and beat King at least one time._

He lost both battles fairly quickly.

— - — - — 

“So this is where people grocery shop?”

Saitama just rolled his eyes, and picked up another head of cabbage, inspecting it for brown spots. Seeing that it was clean, he put it into the basket over his arm.

“Haven’t you ever been shopping before?”

She shook her head, delicately plucking a cluster of grapes from a nearby stand and looking at them closely, the way Saitama had. “Not since I was a girl. I always have one of my group go for me.”

It was late afternoon, and Saitama had decided to drag himself to the grocery store, to buy ingredients to make himself dinner. Since Genos had left, he had found himself with an unusual lack of appetite, and often had to scold himself to eat decent meals. He had had a bit of bad luck today, however; as he was leaving his apartment, who should be walking up at that moment except Fubuki, the B-class hero, and head of the infamous Fubuki group.

Ever since the two had met several months ago, the wily woman had tried everything to convince the powerful Saitama to join her faction, only to be rebuffed at every turn. This didn’t stop her from trying, though, and more often than not she would just happen to show up at places that Saitama would be, trying to forcefully insert herself into his (admittedly small) circle of friends.

And just lately, she would come to his actual apartment, calling it a “friendly visit”. She always brought at least one of her lackeys with her, and ALWAYS had some kind of food (sweets seemed to be her preference, and Saitama was introduced to a variety of decadent treats). Saitama, not really having the energy or the spirit to full-on ask her to stop visiting, let the visits continue to happen. She talked a lot, and he listened (or pretended to), while his mind roamed free, thinking about Genos.

Today was a first; she was totally alone, and she insisted on coming with him to the market. She trailed him around, commenting on different produce, meats, and drinks, offering her opinion on the things Saitama was picking up.

“Are you planning on staying for dinner?”, he asked her, internally sighing. He didn’t want her to, but knew that to resist would be futile. She was possibly one of the pushiest people he had ever met, and without Genos around to act as a buffer …

“How sweet; thank you,” she answered him, smiling. “To show my appreciation, I’ll buy us a bottle of wine.”

Saitama wasn’t a fan of wine, or any kind of alcohol, really; but again knew that to protest would be a losing battle. So he quietly finished picking out the ingredients for the hotpot he was planning on making, and headed up to the check-out.

Back at home, Fubuki was surprisingly helpful. She rolled up her sleeves, she washed, peeled, and chopped vegetables. She even set the small table that Saitama ate at, adorning it with one of his candles.

“So what are you doing here all alone?”, he asked, once they sat down with the food.

“Ah, well, I thought that maybe it’s time you and I got to know each other a bit better, Saitama-kun.”

“Huh?”

“It just occurred to me; I’ve been approaching you about joining my group entirely the wrong way.”

“Yeah? How do you figure?”

“Well, the attraction of any two or more people joining together is knowing what the other has to offer. I know what you have to offer; your amazing strength. But you have no clue what _I_ can give.”

Saitama took a huge bite out of his bowl, cursing a bit as some of the broth served to burn his tongue.

“You mean moving all those rocks and stuff with your mind? I’ve seen that.”

“Surely you don’t believe that _that’s_ my **only** talent, do you?”

Fubuki got up from her place and went to Saitama, getting close to him.  
VERY close.  
**Too** close.

“What are you doing?”

“That depends,” she said, putting her hand on his leg. “What would you LIKE me to do?”

Saitama sighed and put his bowl carefully on the table. As close as she was, she was liable to make him drop it and spill it all over the carpet.

“What I’d LIKE is for you to go back over there, sit down, and eat your dinner. None of this was cheap, ya’know.”

Undeterred, Fubuki positioned herself so that she was sitting in Saitama’s lap. She put both arms around his shoulders.

“Do you have any idea how many men want me?”, she asked, with a smile. “Yet here I am, all alone, with YOU. I’m ready to treat you really good, Saitama.”

“You’d honestly be willing to go THIS far, for me to join your stupid little group?”

She nodded, pulling herself even closer into him. “I know you’re lonely, Saitama. Espers can feel that kind of thing. You’re lonely, and you’re sooo tense. I can help you with that. I help you, and you help me. BOTH of us will benefit, trust me.”

Gently but firmly, Saitama moved her out of his lap and back to the floor.

“I’m sorry, Fubuki. I mean, you’re pretty and all ... but, come on, you’re better than this. What would your group think of you if they saw you right now?”

Sighing heavily, and blushing just as hard, Fubuki stood up.

“I’m sorry … I should go …”

“No. You can’t. We haven’t finished dinner.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, smiling. “I’m sure. Friends don’t just leave without eating first.”

She sat back in her place, daintily picking up her bowl. 

“Just so you know, I’m not giving up on you joining my group.”

“Okay. Just so YOU know, I’m never joining.”

“I know.”

The two smiled at each other, then finished their meal together in a companionable silence.

— - — - —

Saitama woke up with a start, and instantly knew something was wrong. It was late night, past bedtime, and Saitama had been heavily asleep on his futon on the floor.

His blurry, half-asleep mind softly informed him that he woke up, because there was somebody sitting by his feet. Somebody breathing, somebody watching his sleepy movements.

Was it … had Genos come home?!

But no; even before he looked, he knew that wasn’t the case. Genos’ breathing wasn’t this natural-sounding.

While Saitama wasn’t afraid of a possible intruder (after all, what harm could they do him?), he was a little creeped out, at the idea of being watched. And if this turned out to be Fubuki, attempting a ‘Round 2’ to her failed seduction at dinner a few nights ago —

He cautiously stretched out his foot, and jumped when it touched a very real, very solid mass. There WAS someone here.

Saitama sat up slowly ...

... and was almost flabbergasted to see that guy, the one who had declared himself to be Saitama’s rival. The one who showed up every chance he got to fight Saitama, and lost every single time. The intense one. The weirdo.

The ninja.

“Sonic?”

“Saaaaaitama.”

The voice, while unmistakable, had a very funny, uncharacteristic pitch to it. Huskier than normal, and devoid of the biting anger and aggression that was usually present.

“What the hell —!”, Saitama exclaimed, getting to his feet. This was mildly alarming; it was normal for the higher-functioning part of his brain to tell him when there was a threat present.

But then again ... looking closely at Sonic, and how off-kilter he seemed ... maybe he wasn’t exactly a threat? But then why —

“What are you doing here?”

Sonic looked up at him, and Saitama involuntarily flinched. Were ... were those TEARS, in his eyes? Was he crying?

This was getting weirder by the second.

“I’m here to kill you, of course,” Sonic answered him now; but his voice had no strength to it, no fortitude. He said it as dully as one might recite a grocery list.

“So, wait,” Saitama said, walking around and flipping on the lights. “You figured out where I live, you were lucky enough to catch me off-guard and sleeping, you get right up next to me ... but somehow, I’m still alive? What, do you have performance anxiety or something? Did you forget your sword?”

Sonic drew a long sword out of the sheath attached to his waist, laying it on the ground in front of him. The shiny metal was coated in dark red blood, from the tip to halfway down the shaft. Did he kill something (or some _one_ ) before coming here?

As if reading his mind, Sonic said, quietly, “Monster. Some kind of giant bug. Lots of teeth. Was eating out the wall of my hideout, so I killed it.”

“So from there, you thought that now would be a good time to come and kill me?”

Sonic just shrugged, continuing to stare down at the floor. He was rocking slightly back and forth, his hands gripping his ankles.

He went silent for so long that Saitama began to feel annoyed, and said, “Well if you’re here to try and kill me, can you get on with it already? I’d really like to go back to bed.”

“Smells like blueberries in here,” Sonic remarked, seeming to ignore Saitama’s request entirely. “Surprising; you don’t look like someone who eats healthy things like fruit.”

“What are you talking about? Are you drunk right now?”

“Drunk?”, Sonic repeated, in a scornful, wavering tone. “I am a ninja, and ninjas do NOT —“

“So you’re drunk enough to not know you’re drunk,” Saitama interrupted, shaking his head. He left him momentarily to go into his kitchen and pull his kettle out of the cabinet, yawning as he filled it with water. He set it on the stove to boil, saying, as he came back in, “At any rate, let me make you some tea. Hopefully it’ll calm you down some.”

At the mention of the word ‘calm’, Sonic suddenly burst into loud, heavy sobs. He drew his knees up to his chin and buried his head on his crossed arms, the tears coming hard and fast.

Saitama was at a loss, for knowing what to do. If Genos has been here, he would have opened fire and incinerated Sonic as soon as he’d spotted him sitting there, no questions asked.

Deciding that he didn’t trust Sonic to be left by himself (with his instability, it seemed like he might try and impale himself with his sword or something), Saitama merely hoisted him up, and carried him over his shoulder to the kitchen, where he plopped him down in a chair.

“Look, calm down, okay?,” he told him, bringing him a box of tissues.

“Hoowwww?!”, Sonic wailed, taking a tissue and blowing his nose. “Everything in my life is falling apart, and to top it off, the only one I can tell any of it to is my worst enemy!”

“You know we’re only ‘enemies’ in your own head, right?”

“My head, my head ... nothing is right in my head!”, he yelled, breaking into fresh tears. “What’s happened? I used to be so young and promising. I’m one of two people, out of hundreds, to survive my class’s ninja training. I’ve spent years perfecting my skills; I’m almost invincible! And then some bald jackass punches me in the balls, and suddenly I’m 25, I haven’t had a proper job in over a year, I haven’t enjoyed the company of a woman in —“

“Whoa, did you say woman? You like girls??”

“What the hell? Of course I do! Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Saitama said, shrugging, “Kinda feels like having a partner goes against the whole lone ninja vibe you’ve got going for yourself.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to be alone forever,” Sonic mumbled angrily. Behind them, the tea kettle whistled, and Saitama got up and brought it to the table, pouring them each some into the cups he had laid out before.

Sonic picked his cup up and toyed with it, before saying, nervously,

“Actually ... there is someone I’ve got my eye on. You might know her; last week I watched her defeat this gigantic beast in B-city. She was really amazing. And attractive.”

This was _weird_. Sitting here in the early morning having a cup of tea and talking romance with Sonic, as if the two were just normal, everyday friends ...

“Yeah? Do you know her name?”

“Tatsumaki.”

“Tatsumaki??”, Saitama repeated, nearly yelping in his surprise. “Seriously, dude; are you some kind of a freak?”

“What? No!”

“Are you sure? Because you just told me that you thought think that that — that spoiled brat, that _child_ , is attractive! I should punch you for saying such a gross thing, you hentai!”

“Child? Since when is a 28 year old grown woman considered to be a child?”

“28? Tatsumaki?”

“I stole her file from the hero association. Tatsumaki, hero name Tornado of Terror, Class S, rank 2, esper, 28 years old. Family: One younger sister, 23, Fubuki, esper, Class B rank 1, hero name Blizzard of Hell.”

Saitama barely heard any of the other stuff, he was so taken aback by this new revelation. And wait … she was Fubuki’s SISTER? Her OLDER SISTER?

Had she told him this before?

Probably; but, as with most things, Saitama likely just wasn’t paying attention at the time.

“28? Jeez; the little witch is older than ME,” he muttered to himself, quietly. To Sonic, he said,

“Well maybe if she wasn’t the size of a festival prize-game doll, I wouldn’t have made that mistake.”

“So what it she’s small?”, Sonic asked, somewhat defensively. “Clearly that doesn’t make her any less powerful.”

“No, you’re right, it doesn’t. But Sonic, there’s a LOT wrong with her that has nothing to do with her size. She’s loud, she has a horrible, violent temper, she’s arrogant —“

“Ah, sounds a lot like ME, doesn’t she?”, Sonic commented, laying his head on his crossed arms. “Two peas in a pod; a perfect match.”

“Alright, then, aside from all that: she, is a hero. An extremely high-ranking one at that. She may be a terrible person otherwise, but with that, she has a 100% clear moral compass. And you, well —“

Sonic lifted his head, his voice bleary as he claimed, “I bet I could be a hero too, if I wanted. With my skill set, my superior ninjitsu, I should have no trouble attaining an S-class ranking.”

“Sonic —“

“And my criminal background shouldn’t matter, either. That man I met in jail, that Puri Puri Prisoner, HE’S a convicted felon, yet still retains his S-class status.”

“But Sonic —“

“And don’t tell me that I can’t —“

“Sonic! Hold on a sec, let me say what I’m going to say!”

“Fine, what?”

Clearing his throat several times, Saitama put on his ‘serious’ voice, and said, “Being a hero is a huge responsibility, both to yourself, and to those you protect. It’s not about rankings, or popularity; it’s about knowing what the right thing is to do, and doing it in all situations, even when it might be difficult. If you choose to be a hero, you should do it for YOU. Not for some girl, but for yourself. To challenge yourself, to better yourself, and to be a better human being. Do you understand?”

But, unfortunately, Sonic had dozed off during this little speech, snoring lightly into his arms. Saitama sighed and stood up, lightly shaking him.

“Okay, come on; let’s try and get you back home. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow and need some sleep.”

Sonic woke up immediately, scowling at Saitama.

“Why? What all-important activity do you plan on doing tomorrow?,” Sonic scoffed, helping himself to more tea instead of getting up. “Sleeping, followed by napping, followed by eating, then more sleeping?”

“Shit. Okay, you’re right. I don’t have anything I HAVE to do; but I try and keep myself busy during the days, so I don’t –“

Here he paused, not knowing whether to tell Sonic the truth or not. The next part was highly personal, and, while Sonic had just opened up to him, Saitama wasn’t sure that he was prepared to do the same thing.

“So you don’t what?”

Deciding that he may as well be honest, Saitama said, slowly,

“Genos is gone, and I’m not sure where. He’s gone, and I guess I’m a little bit lost without him here. So during the day I try and go out and keep myself occupied, so I’m not thinking about him.”

The two sat in silence for a few moments, before Sonic cleared his throat and asked, somewhat cautiously,

“You’re in love with the robot?”

Saitama’s face turned a deep red, and he looked down at the floor.

“I never said that, did I?”

“No, but you’re kind of saying it anyway. Funny; I never would have pegged you for having a cyborg fetish.”

“It’s not a ‘fetish’!”, Saitama yelled at him. “It’s not — I don’t — you know what? If, IF I did have some kind of feelings for Genos, what would really be wrong with that? He’s smart, he’s good-looking, he’s a hero —“

“Sorry, sorry,” Sonic said, although that devilish smile was still touching his lips. He stood up and stretched. While he was still a bit wobbly on his feet, it was an improvement over when he’d first arrived. “I should go.”

He turned and headed for the front door, and Saitama went after him, saying, “Wait a sec!”

“What?”

“Where will you go? Didn’t you say the monster messed up your hideout?”

Sonic shrugged. “Up to the mountains, maybe. Or maybe I can find somewhere in one of the abandoned areas.”

Saitama shook his head. “That’s no way to live, Sonic; ninja or not.”

He went to a small closet and pulled down a box from the top. Sonics eyes went wide; inside were what must have been countless 100-yen notes.

Saitama counted out a good handful, then held them out to the stunned Sonic.

“Here. Take this. Get some food, get a room at an inn, something. You shouldn’t be sleeping outside like a dog.”

Sonic hesitated to take it. “Where did you get all this? The Hero Association doesn’t pay THIS well, does it?”

Smiling, Saitama shook his head and said, “Nah. Genos gave me that as a down payment on rent, when he first moved in here. But I’ve never used it. I keep it for emergencies. And you, Sonic, are definitely an emergency.”

Sonic took the stack of bills and folded them shakily into his pocket.

“If — If I were to do something odd right now, would you promise to consider it a side effect of intoxication, and nothing more?”

“Yes?”

Hesitating, Sonic stepped over to him, and awkwardly put his arms around his shoulders. Saitama had to hold off on the urge to burst out laughing; it was clear, by Sonic’s change in breathing and his utter awkwardness, that he had never hugged another person in his entire life.

He let go quickly, then said, gruffly, as if to save face. “I WILL pay you back, someday. And when I do, that means I will have no more obligation to you, and I’ll go back to trying to kill you.”

“Understood,” Saitama said, waving him out the door. “Good luck.”

“To you, too. You, and the robot.”

Before Saitama could protest over the word ‘robot’, Sonic was gone, disappearing in a blur, leaving only the sound of his laughter behind him.

Saitama locked the door behind him, looking at it thoughtfully for a few moments before switching off the light and laying back down on his futon.

— - — - —

Several days later, early evening found Saitama doing his laundry. Having gotten the washing and drying done, he now stood beside the little closet, folding or hanging his things.

He had to smile when he came across a particular t-shirt, depicting a small cartoon pig with the words “Little Ino’s BBQ” written underneath. He and Genos had gone to the establishment in question, looking to take part in an all-you-can-eat contest.

First Prize: 50000 Yen, AND a T-shirt.

Saitama figures that bringing Genos along would mean that they had twice the chance of winning ... but neither had counted on the S-class hero, Pig God, to be a part of the competition. Pig God had quickly beat out his competitors, including Saitama. But Genos, not having an organic body, had hung in there, simply dumping the food down his throat and letting his internal compressor do the rest.

But it wasn’t to be.

An alarming (and unexpected) side effect of so much barbecue was that the heavy sauce had managed to leak from Genos’ compressor and compromise the rest of his internal systems. Saitama had had to rush him out of there, and to Dr. Kuseno’s office.

The next day, Pig God came to find them (Saitama terrified the entire time that the rickety stairs leading to his apartment would collapse under the man’s massive weight), and gave them the T-shirt as the consolation prize. “It won’t fit me anyway” was what he said, as he handed it over.

Ever since then, it had become one of Saitama’s favorite shirts to wear, when he wasn’t dressed in his hero costume.

Jokingly, he now slid the shirt on, saying to himself, “Who knows; maybe this will bring me some good luck.”

But Saitama had barely had time to get that sentence out, before a sudden sound startled him.

Someone ... coming up the stairs, outside?

Saitama turned his head and listened closely. Who could it be? 

“If it’s Fubuki coming for dinner again, I’m seriously gonna turn out the lights and pretend I’m not home,” Saitama muttered wearily to himself.

He held his breath as whoever his visitor was stopped at the door, and he braved himself, waiting for the knock.

He almost passed out when, instead of a knock, there was the sound of A KEY turning slowly in the lock, and then the door creaking open.

_No way ... is it really ... it can’t be ..._

A pause, and then, like music: 

“Saitama-Sensei, I am home.”

Slowly, thinking he might be dreaming, Saitama rounded the corner and came face to face with ...

“G-genos? Is that you?”

“Yes, Saitama-Sensei, it is me.”

So many thoughts and words sent rushing through Saitama’s mind that he couldn’t pick what to say or do first. Eventually his heart settled on:

“I’m so sorry!”, he exclaimed, before diving at Genos. Genos was clearly surprised; he took the brunt of Saitama’s impact and the two went flying backwards and into the wall, creating a loud Boom! and a vivid indentation in the plaster. 

But Saitama could care less about all that. Instead, he tightened his grip on Genos, and went on, “Whatever I said, or didn’t say, or did or didn’t do, that made you leave, I’m SORRY!!”

“H-huh?”

Saitama let go of him and pulled back to look at his face. He was a bit embarrassed to realize that his OWN face was now coated in tears. When was the last time he’d cried?

“Genos, you’ve been gone for almost four months. You left so suddenly, and you didn’t say where you were going, and —“

Now Genos was squinting and looking around the room. “Saitama-Sensei, where is your laptop?”

“What?”

He went to where the computer had been, and tapped the empty space with his hand. 

“I left you a letter on your laptop’s word program, explaining where I was going. I left detailed route indicators, as well as when I would return.”

Saitama felt himself turn red from his face to his toes, and he sat down quickly, putting his hands over his eyes. The morning that Genos had left, Saitama, being careless when moving around furniture to look for one of King’s video games he had borrowed (and lost), had accidentally knocked the laptop to the floor. Him being overly strong (and the old machine being fragile to begin with) caused it to short out, then break into several pieces. He had thrown it away without giving much thought to it.

“Shit,” he muttered, feeling embarrassed. Had he really over-reacted to this extent?

“Saitama-Sensei, are you feeling alright? My sensors indicate elevated body temperatures and an overdrive of the adrenaline glands.”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

Genos launched into a story about his journey, where he had gone, who he had met up with. From what Saitama could gather, Genos had sought out a fabled scientist living in the high mountains of Japan, one who was said to be able to do body modification surgery at an even higher level of skill than Dr. Kuseno. He hadn’t mentioned to Dr. Kuseno where he was going, in order to avoid offending him. Yet, sadly, when he’d arrived at his destination, he found the old man to be very ill, and unwilling to accept any possible clients.

Saitama was listening, but more so than that, he was _thinking_.

Okay, so, Genos was back.  
He’d come back.

And he hadn’t left because he was angry, or dissatisfied, or anything like Saitama had been obsessing over.

Not only that, he HAD let Saitama know of his intended whereabouts, even if Saitama’s clumsiness had prevented him from taking advantage of that.

Mumen Rider has tried to tell Saitama that sometimes what one thinks of as being ‘love’ is only confusion. That it would be easy to believe you were in love with another person, and to idealize and idolize them in their absence; yet once the person came back into your life, the feelings of passion would quickly dissipate and settle back into the comfort and familiarity that one felt before.

But ...

“Genos ... I have never in my life felt this strongly about somebody going away, like you did. You left me a note, and that was good; but from now on, if you’re going somewhere, you have to tell me to my face. And then give me time to pack, because if you go away, I’m going with you. No matter where it is, or how long you’ll be gone. Okay?”

“But, Saitama-Sensei, why was my absence the cause of distress for you?”

Deciding to come clean to Genos (and to himself), Saitama cleared his throat, looked him in the eye, and said,

“Because ... because I think that I love you. And I don’t mean that I love you as my pupil. I’m not sure what you know about romantic love, if you ever experienced it when you were still fully human. But it means that I think about you more than anyone else. It means I care about what happens to you, more than anyone else. It also means, if you’d be comfortable with it, I’d want to DO things with you, like hug you and kiss you and hold your hand when we go to the grocery store, stuff like that.”

Here he paused, turning slightly away and lowering his voice, before continuing, 

“But I understand if you don’t want these things. I get you might think it’s weird, the idea of romantically being involved with another guy. Or if you don’t want some old, bald, B-class nobody like—“

But he couldn’t finish that sentence, because Genos had taken his face between his hands, and was kissing him. Not a whole lot of thoughts made it through Saitama’s stunned mind, but one that made itself known over and over and was how incredibly _soft_ Genos’ lips were. Saitama had been expecting this to have more of a metal-feel, the same way Genos’ hands felt, but this ... nothing could have prepared him for this silky sweetness.

When Genos finished, he pulled back and looked at Saitama anxiously. “Was that satisfactory? I have studied how to do this, but was apprehensive about its actual execution.”

“Did you do that, because you were trying to please me?”

Genos shook his head, and then he _smiled_.

“I did it because I love you, as well, Saitama.”

Saitama drew Genos into his arms, holding him tightly. “That makes me feel so happy, I could die.”

Genos quickly backed away from Saitama’s arms and changed one of his own fingers into a thermometer. “If you feel on the verge of death, then quickly, let me take your temperature and diagnose your ailments, so that I can take you to the hospital and —“

Saitama burst out laughing, and pulled Genos into a hug once more. “Relax, Genos. That’s just an expression. But don’t worry; we’ll work on that. In the meantime, would you like to go out somewhere, for dinner?”

“I would like to, Sensei, but I feel as though I need to recharge my circuits first. I have walked straight here for the past two days, and I’m afraid my systems might —“

Saitama bent down and lifted Genos off his feet, cradling him in his arms. “Don’t worry; I’ll carry you there and back. There is one condition, though.”

“What is the condition, Sensei?”

“That you never call me ‘Sensei’ ever again.”

Genos smiled and nodded. “Agreed ... Saitama.”

Saitama adjusted Genos in his arms as he stole another kiss, before carrying him out the door.


End file.
